


L'Oréal (Because you're worth it)

by ThoseFiveChicks



Series: Under The Bed [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Gen, Jason Todd Has Issues, Vampires, mentions of past trauma, mild breaking and entering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 17:32:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16937649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThoseFiveChicks/pseuds/ThoseFiveChicks
Summary: Bruce disappears before Jason can talk to him.





	L'Oréal (Because you're worth it)

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't slept. Mistakes have been made.  
> I was kind of shying away from writing Bruce because I'm not confident in my ability to do so, but I gotta get over it sometime. Maybe I'll go back and tweak Waiting Up a bit? We'll see. Say a prayer for me because finals own my ass.

He hadn’t seen Bruce for three days.

That in itself wasn’t _too_ unusual– Jason could remember multiple instances where Bruce had vanished for upwards of a week at a time– but he’d said for Jason to come find him once he was feeling better. Three days later, he was _definitely_ feeling better, and yet he had definitely _not_ found Bruce. It wasn’t through lack of trying. The man hadn’t shown up for breakfast the morning after Dick had been shot, which, fine, whatever, it was one meal. A meal that _Dick_ still showed up to, and even chatted during, more interested in socializing than eating despite his recent injury.

(Jason _wasn’t_ disappointed that Bruce had praised him and then abruptly vanished)

(On an unrelated note, Jason was terrible at lying to himself)

When Bruce hadn’t been at the table for dinner that evening, or breakfast the morning after _that_ , Jason had gone looking. Wayne Manor was huge, but Jason had a lot of free time on his hands and a frankly insatiable curiosity. First he checked the usual haunts, including Bruce’s bedroom– and wasn’t that something, him willingly setting foot in the bedchambers of the Batman. The place looked disappointingly _normal_ , if you ignored the lack of windows. It was also strangely silent. Wayne Manor was a decent clip away from the hubbub and clamor of Gotham, and the quiet had unnerved Jason at first, until he’d realized that– if he strained his ears– he could always hear the distant sound of sirens and cars. Gotham might be muted, but it was still there.

Not so in Bruce’s room. No matter how hard he listened, no matter if he held his breath or closed his eyes, he could hear nothing beyond the walls. Fucking creepy. Like being dead.

He hadn’t double-checked the room on his second sweep of the house.

Four hours of nothing but cobwebs in his hair (and considering how meticulous Alfred was about cleaning, those had been _hard_ to find) and Jason had been forced to accept that Bruce wasn’t at home. Or if he was, he was dodging Jason’s every attempt at locating him, and the concept of losing _hide and seek_ to the fucking _Batman_ was too depressing for Jason to really entertain. Vigilantes weren’t supposed to play children’s games, and neither, in Jason’s _personal_ opinion, was Jason.

The next step was, obviously, to break into Dick’s apartment.

“Is this a test or something?” Jason asked, “Telling me to find him and then vanishing? Am I supposed to prove myself worthy of whatever this surprise is?”

“. . .how did you get in here?”

Jason waved his hands dismissively. “You were asleep, so I jimmied the lock. Anyway, _is_ this a test?”

“You–” Dick broke off. Jason had crawled into bed with him when he hadn’t woken up, and there they still were, Jason in street clothes and Dick in nothing but Superman pajama pants. Jason raised an eyebrow at him. Dick pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“How did you even know where I was?” he asked.

“Oh, that was easy. Alfred’s got your address written down in that little book he keeps next to the phone in the kitchen.”

“Of course he does.” Dick took a deep breath, one Jason was fully aware he didn’t need. “Jason, from now on, don’t go near a sleeping vampire, okay? We can be. . . dangerous, if we’re startled awake.”

Jason snorted.

“If you were really all that dangerous, I think you would’ve woken up when I got here, instead of sleep-snuggling me.”

“That’s different. I _just_ fed on you a few days ago, my body doesn’t have you categorized as a threat right now. It thinks you’re prey. I could’ve bitten you without even–”

“You were purring,” Jason said. “I didn’t know vampires _could_ purr.”

“I– we don’t,” Dick said, then, “Shut up.”

As much as he’d love to keep torturing Dick, Jason had questions he wanted answered, so he dropped the issue.

“Bruce. Test. Is this?” he asked again.

Dick ran a hand back through his hair, tugging it out of his eyes. He gave Jason a calculating look– calculating _what_ , Jason had no idea. He’d gotten a lot of those in the first few weeks after he’d moved into the manor, though, and he was just starting to bristle at it when Dick finally spoke.

“Have you been watching the news lately?”

Jason shrugged.

“Yes,” he lied. One of Dick’s eyebrows ticked upwards. Jason _so_ needed to learn how to do that. Independent eyebrow control seemed powerful.

“Then you know why Bruce has been busy,” Dick prompted.

“. . .yeeess,” Jason lied again, and apparently he’d hesitated too long because a smirk lit up Dick’s face. Jason felt his own darken into a glower. It wasn’t _his_ fault he hadn’t had time to plop down in front of the television, he’d been kind of distracted by Bruce vanishing off the face of the planet.

Though, okay, in hindsight, maybe checking the news for sightings of the caped crusader should’ve been somewhere on his list.

Possibly even _before_ breaking into Dick’s apartment.

“Whatever,” Jason scoffed. He folded his arms and ignored the angry flush starting to burn at the tips of his ears. Dick snickered, not even bothering to hide it, and Jason debated the pros and cons of breaking his knuckles on those stupid fucking cheekbones. “So I’m still not used to having a flat screen available. It’s a new development for some of us, _Dick_.”

Dick’s expression sobered. For a moment, Jason was almost offended, because he didn’t need _anyone’s_ pity, especially not over something as stupid as a TV, but the vampire’s next words wiped clean that prickle of irritation with a chill that ran down Jason’s spine.

“Joker’s out again.”

And that, well.

Hm.

That explained things.

“It’s just bad timing,” Dick added, almost like an excuse. “B was really excited about– he was excited about your _surprise_. And he still is! Just. Priorities.”

“ _Excited_ ,” Jason echoed. Dick’s voice took on a defensive tone.

“What? He can be excited.”

“I will never understand the emotions you think he has.”

Dick rolled his eyes, tapped his knuckles against Jason’s shoulder. Jason, for his part, bared his teeth in a smile, but his mind was elsewhere.

The Joker. More concrete knowledge was available about him than the Batman, because unlike the Batman, the Joker made it a point of pride to be splashed across every newspaper in Gotham. From his larger-than-life crimes to his stints in Arkham, there was never any shortage of new material for the press to work with. Yet despite his verifiable existence, the Joker enjoyed the same near-mythic status as Gotham’s vampiric defender. He’d been whispered about in criminal circles almost as much, and while Jason had never had the misfortune to encounter the _clown prince of crime_ , he knew those that had. Once he’d even smoked with a guy who claimed to have worked a job with him. He wasn’t sure if he believed all the stories, but since moving into Wayne manor and consequently having to endure Dick’s tales of heroics, he was beginning to gather that the tights-wearing villains of Gotham were often even _stranger_ than their reputations.

(He did not enjoy those stories. Not even a little)

(Street Jason was absolutely not hanging on Nightwing’s every word)

“Is he really as dangerous as everyone says?” Jason asked.

“Bruce’ll be fine,” Dick said, which didn’t answer his question, but whatever.

“I don’t understand why he doesn’t just kill the guy. Clearly Arkham is _not_ helping.”

“We don’t–”

“ _We don’t kill_ , I know. But _come on_ , Dick. He’s not just a criminal, he’s well on his way to becoming a _mass murderer_. What possible downside is there to the Batman taking him out?”

Dick looked uncomfortable. He shifted, hands fiddling with the edge of his covers, teeth worrying at his lower lip. He was scrutinizing Jason’s face, and there was something in his eyes that made Jason want to fidget as well. He didn't.

“Jaybird. . .” Dick began, tone sounding like he was about to pick his words like a wire on a bomb, and Jason dropped his gaze. Suddenly he very much no longer wanted to talk about this.

“Forget it,” he said. “Just– I’m just disappointed. Like you said. Bad timing.”

Then, Jason looked up again, a smile catching the edges of his lips.

“Say, _you_ know what the surprise is,” he started. It had the desired effect. Dick’s serious expression was buried, a laugh bubbling up out of his throat, and he held up his hands as if to ward Jason off.

“ _Oh no_ , you’re not getting _me_ to spill. It’s called a surprise for a _reason_ , Jay.”

“Come on! Who _knows_ when this’ll get wrapped up, it could be a _month_ from now.”

“It won’t be a month, Jason. Besides, Bruce would want to be the one to tell you.”

“Just give me a _hint_ ,” Jason _absolutely did not_ whine, and Dick reached out to ruffle his hair before Jason could manage to pull away.

“Okay,” he said. “Your surprise is in the Batcave.”

That wasn’t really a hint at all, but it at least gave Jason somewhere to start. He’d never actually been _in_ the Batcave. When he first moved in, it was because he was still fairly certain Batman would eat him if he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Even now, Bruce could still make him. . . nervous. Especially when he silently appeared in unexpected places, which he didn’t even seem to do on _purpose_ half the time.

(Jason was really hoping that someday he’d stop dropping things when that happened. Or, as in that one time, hurling a remote full-force in Bruce’s direction)

(He’d had the fucking nerve to _catch_ it)

By now, he’d just decided that asking to see the Batcave would be too childish. He wasn’t some overeager fanboy, after all. He didn’t need to see the Batman’s crime-fighting lab, or go for another ride in the Batmobile (he hadn’t really been able to properly enjoy the first one, what with the fear of impending death) and he _definitely_ didn’t need Bruce to show him any of the (sick as fuck) gadgets he used on a nightly basis. Jason was basically an adult, pretty much. Almost already a teenager. He was incredibly mature.

But this changed the game. Wanting to get into the Batcave was no longer a matter of puerile fascination, it was a challenge. If he wanted to find out what this so-called surprise was– and he _did_ – he had to find a way in.

He could have asked Alfred. He was almost certain the man would let him in. But that felt like cheating, and _definitely_ not anything he could brag about to Bruce (not that he cared), so instead Jason started thinking about ways to break in. He knew where the entrance was, but while he’d seen Batman leaving more than once, he’d never seen him _enter_. That meant he didn’t know exactly how the secret door worked from the library side, but, well. He’d watched movies. How difficult could a rotating bookshelf be?

“If someone were to, _I dunno_ , sneak into the Batcave, they wouldn’t be incinerated by lasers on the spot, would they?” he asked that afternoon.

Alfred was making scones, and as he’d made a habit of since moving in, Jason was helping. More accurately, he was trying desperately not to fuck up as Alfred handed off simple tasks to him. He wouldn’t call himself a fantastic cook, but, as Alfred had made him promise not to say he’d told him, he was doing better than Dick, who apparently had almost burned down the kitchen a couple years ago. That was to say nothing of Bruce himself. One particularly enjoyable evening Jason had been the gleeful recipient of the story of a young Bruce Wayne stealing an entire bowl of cake batter and making himself sick for three days.

He liked cooking with Alfred. Something about the man made every room he was in just a little bit warmer, the kitchen especially. There was a peace to be found sitting at the counter, _The Great British Bake-Off_ playing in the background and a bowl to stir in front of him.

Alfred paused in his kneading of the dough, giving Jason a thoughtful look. His question had been bluntly obvious. Jason hadn’t intended it otherwise. He wasn’t trying to hide what he was doing from Alfred; just because he didn’t want his help didn’t mean he thought he shouldn’t know. Besides, it was probably a good idea to find out if his plan was potentially deadly. He wasn’t _that_ proud.

“Master Bruce would never incorporate fatal traps into the cave’s defenses,” Alfred said at length.

“So there are non-fatal traps?”

“Hypothetically speaking, if someone _were_ planning on sneaking into the Batcave, they might wish to exercise caution regarding forcing the door. It’s possible that such an action could leave them. . . tied up, as it were.”

Jason smiled.

“Thanks, Alfred.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re thanking me for, Master Jason.” Alfred turned back to the dough. Despite his level voice, there was a smile teasing at the corners of his mouth. “After all, this is purely hypothetical. Now, if you would please pass me that rolling pin?”

It took him almost an hour, but Jason eventually figured it out. After pulling every book on the shelf, checking behind every painting in the room, and even scrutinizing a marble bust, Jason finally noticed the grandfather clock. It wasn’t like he hadn’t known it was there– it was obvious to anyone with a working set of eyes, or even ears, what with the constant, quiet ticking. It wasn’t like it was out of place either, perfectly matched to the rest of the room’s decor. No, what Jason hadn’t realized before was much more subtle. When he’d turned to check the time, wondering how long he’d been at it, he’d been surprised to see that, apparently, none had passed. A closer investigation revealed that, despite the pendulum’s unerring swing and the clock’s apparently perfect working order, its hands simply didn’t move.

 _Fucking weird that Bruce would keep a broken clock_ , Jason thought, then, _Oh_.

It was easier than picking a lock. All he had to do was slowly spin the minute hand around the clock face until, with a near-silent hiss, the bookcase slid away from the entrance to the cave. _Ten forty-eight_ , Jason thought, making a mental note of the correct time in case he ever wanted to sneak in again. Assuming Bruce didn’t change the password if he ever found out about this.

Jason took a deep breath.

Something caught in his chest as he started carefully down the stairs. Nerves or excitement, maybe, some kind of high-energy emotion. He’d only made it about five steps down when the door slid shut behind him, and Jason had a moment of panic before he forced himself to remain calm. Of course it had closed automatically. Bruce wouldn’t want anyone stumbling on the entrance by accident. It was definitely not proof that the Batcave was haunted.

(He did not struggle to keep from looking over his shoulder as he descended the steps)

( _Jesus Christ you’re going soft_ , Street Jason scoffed)

It got colder the further down he went. The staircase curved gently, a winding burrow into the earth, and the walls slowly got rougher around him. He reached out to touch one, cool stone against his palm, and wondered how it was made. _When_ it was made. How old _was_ Bruce? He’d never asked, too concerned it would piss the vampire off. The Batman had been haunting the streets of Gotham long before Jason was born, but. . . _how_ long before? Decades? Centuries? For that matter, how old was Dick?

He had to be pretty far down now. The air was chilly, and like in Bruce’s bedroom, the sounds of Gotham seemed to have vanished. All at once, Jason felt like he’d been buried alive, the stone around him heavy and oppressive. He shouldn’t have come down here. He should’ve stayed upstairs, away from the cold and the cave, and just waited patiently for Bruce to resurface because this was _too much_ , no curiosity could possibly be worth _this_ –

And then Jason turned that final curve and the breath fell out of him in a rush.

The Batcave. Jason wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. Bats, obviously. The Batmobile, somewhere. Some part of him had been anticipating a medieval dungeon, while another had struggled not to imagine the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Lair. What he hadn’t pictured was something so _big_.

The Cave was huge. Huger than he could see from here, if the tunnels leading outwards were any indication. Jason felt, absurdly, like a kid in a candy store as his eyes greedily drank in every detail of the room in front of him. There were massive banks of computers, racks full of batarangs and smoke bombs, lab equipment like something out of a sci-fi movie. The Batmobile was there, proud and sleek and close enough for easy access, and when Jason peered past it he saw an even more impressive fleet of vehicles further down. There was tech the likes of which Jason had nothing to compare; even less of an idea what it _did_ , and.

There it was.

To his right, there was a tall, gleaming glass case. Jason, spellbound in awe, took the last few steps onto the Cave floor and approached it. The Batman costume– the cowl, the cape, the suit itself– hung suspended within. Jason had seen Bruce wearing it, of course, but he’d mostly avoided staring. Here, he didn’t have to do any such thing. His eyes traced over it, scrutinizing every detail, then over to the side, where another case stood. This one, Jason realized, held a suit he’d never seen before, at least not in anything other than old blurry photos taken from a distance. The Robin costume. Dick’s old threads. Bright and cheerful, just like the boy who had once worn it. Jason could easily imagine him, younger and slighter but no less athletic, flipping through the air and cracking jokes as he took down villains alongside his second father.

One final case stood in the row, and Jason stepped up to it, eager to get a good look at Nightwing’s costume. But it wasn’t the black-and-blue suit that was inside, which, upon reflection, made sense. Obviously the suit would stay with Dick, not Bruce. Obviously.

So it wasn’t Nightwing.

It wasn’t a spare Batman suit either.

It wasn’t– and yet, was– the Robin costume. A second one. Jason had to glance back to make sure that, no, he wasn’t seeing double. The colors were the same, but the cut and design weren’t. This one was bulkier. The belts didn’t quite match. The two seemed to be made out of different materials, as if one was an improvement on the other, and while the original costume had clearly seen some heavy use the second seemed new. _Very_ new. Without thinking, Jason reached out to touch the case.

Before his fingers could make contact with the glass, there was a voice behind him.

“I see you’ve found your present.”

Jason whirled around. _Shit_. The Batman suit was here, which meant the Batman _wasn’t wearing it_ , which meant Bruce _wasn’t out on patrol_ , which meant–

Yep. It was him. He’d appeared, silently, sometime during Jason’s gawking, and he was _so_ lucky he hadn’t gone to pick up one of those Batarangs instead or he was fairly sure he’d have another remote incident on his hands. Bruce’s hair was damp, as if he’d just gotten out of the shower, and he was in a regular loose button-down and slacks. There was a purpling bruise on one of his cheeks, which meant he had to have gotten it within the hour. Jason realized, abruptly, that he’d had the fantastically shitty timing to have come barging down here when the Batman had just returned from a fight.

“Uh,” Jason said. _Please don’t kill me_ , was on the tip of his tongue, because he was pretty sure that no matter how long he lived with the guy he was always going to suspect he was one mistake away from getting drained like a juice box.

“The door was unlocked,” was what he said instead. Good plan, Jason. Lie to the face of the vampire whos sanctuary you just invaded.

But Bruce, impossibly, smiled. “Right,” he said dryly, “I’ll have to look into fixing that.”

Jason’s brain finally caught up to him.

“Wait,” he began, looking back at the costume, then at Bruce. “I– my _present?_ ”

“I thought for sure Dick would’ve spoiled the surprise by now.” Bruce stepped up alongside Jason, lifting his eyes to the suit in the case. Jason found himself unable to do so, still staring up at the vampire. Was he. . ?

Bruce raised a hand, resting it against the glass. “I hope you don’t mind, I asked Alfred for your measurements. It might need some adjustments, but I think it’s fairly accurate. If you want it, it’s yours.”

Jason made a sound like the air being let out of a tire. “What,” he said, then, “ _What_.”

Bruce didn’t answer, just turned back to him, still smiling. He was _smiling_. He was smiling at _Jason_. He was smiling at Jason like Jason was worth something, was worth _everything_ , was worth. . .

 _This_.

“I,” Jason tried, “Are you saying I can. . .”

“I’m not _saying_ anything. I’m asking.” Bruce held out a hand to him. Jason stared at it in open confusion.

“Jason Todd. Would you like to take on the mantle of Robin?”

(Yes)

(Say yes you fucking idiot)

(Don’t just stand there with your mouth open say _yes_ )

Jason didn’t say yes. For the moment, he’d forgotten how to form words. He felt, suddenly, like everything had happened too fast. Hadn’t it been just the other day that he’d been on his own in the streets, stealing to make it by and dodging cops? Hadn’t it been just the other night that he’d hidden under his new bed, terrified to venture out lest he be devoured by monsters? How had this happened? How was he here, living in _Bruce Wayne’s_ manor and being offered the position of _Robin?_ How was Bruce Wayne, _Batman_ , looking at him like that?

The bridge of his nose prickled. Before it bothered to ask his brain if it was okay his body launched into motion, ignoring the hand held out to him in favor of wrapping his arms around Bruce’s waist and hugging him fiercely. Tightly. Like Bruce, and everything else, would vanish if Jason let go. Tears burned at his eyes and he pressed his face hard into Bruce’s shirt, unwilling to let them be seen.

Bruce didn’t move for a moment. Jason almost jerked back as the stillness dragged on, the sudden frantic thought that he’d overstepped his boundaries gripping him–

And then there were cool arms around his shoulders, gentle and all-encompassing.

(Jason did not sob)

“Why?” he asked. “Why are you– _why?_ ”

Bruce let out a slow breath. It wasn’t quite a sigh. Jason twisted his hands in the back of his shirt.

“Did Dick tell you how we met?” he asked, voice low and soft. It was so very unlike the voice he used as the Batman, or maybe Jason just hadn’t been listening before. He remembered that first ride, him cowering in the passenger’s side, the Batman speaking to him calmly and slowly. Had that been Bruce?

“You adopted him after his parents died,” Jason said. _Like me_ , he didn’t say, _your_ second _charity case_.

“No. Did he tell you how we _met?_ ”

Jason’s silence, apparently, was answer enough. One of Bruce’s broad hands started to rub slow circles over his back, and Jason closed his eyes. He could die right now, he thought, and have no regrets. It was an odd feeling. Most of what he  _was_ was regrets.

“I never intended for Robin to exist. All I planned was to warn Dick off of pursuing his parents’ killer. I thought it would be simple– he was younger than you are, and my. . . _reputation_ was known widely. I thought, surely, that no child would dare incur the wrath of a vampire.”

Jason, despite himself, laughed. Above him, he could hear Bruce’s own chuckle.

“Exactly. I never stood a chance. I realized at that first meeting that Dick would never have let it go, would never have stood back and done nothing. I didn’t need his help, but he needed to help me. He was grieving, and determined, and so, _so_ angry. Wounds don’t heal when left untreated.

“So I told myself, _one case_. He could tag along to solve his parents’ murder, and after that, I would find him a home. Somewhere far away from me, from Gotham if need be. Somewhere he would be safe. I knew what I was. I knew no human could stay with me.”

“He wore you down, huh?” Jason asked. Bruce hummed, and it vibrated through his chest, pressed against Jason’s arms.

“I’m still unsure if I adopted him or he adopted me. It certainly didn’t hurt that Alfred took a liking to him. I was doomed from the moment those two joined forces.”

Jason could imagine. A young Dick Grayson informing Bruce Wayne that he would _be living with you from now on_ , and _can you please pass the syrup, Alfred’s bringing over a fresh stack of pancakes_.

Batman was supposed to be a remorseless killer of criminals, a monster who stalked the night, vicious in bringing order back to the city he’d claimed as his own. Bruce Wayne was supposed to be an aloof billionaire, self-absorbed and too focused on his next party to bother about the lower-class citizens of Gotham. Neither of them were supposed to cave to the whims of a butler and the puppy-dog-eyes of a freshly-orphaned circus kid.

But.

“. . .what does this have to do with me?” Jason asked. His story wasn’t as clean-cut as that. His parents hadn’t died because of some villain; one had left, and the other he’d failed to save. The hurt of it burned in his gut whenever his thoughts turned backwards. If he’d tried harder to get through to her, if he’d found the money to get her treatment, _if if if_ . There was no one for him to blame but himself, no one for him to take down in a heroic blaze of glory, no murder to solve. There was fury in him, scorching his throat so hot sometimes he couldn’t _breathe_ , but at _what?_ The concept of drugs? Capitalism? The accident of his birth?

He didn’t realize he was (sobbing, couldn’t deny it anymore) until he felt Bruce’s hand in his hair. He didn’t call attention to it, didn’t try to hush Jason or ask what was wrong, just gently combed his hair out of his eyes and stayed silent.

Eventually, Jason managed to get the breath to speak.

“. . .I’m not him.”

“I know.”

“I’m not _like him_.”

“I know.”

“I’m– I’m not a _hero_ , I’m not even a _good person_ , I tried to steal the tires off the _fucking Batmobile_.”

“I had noticed, yes.”

“You could’ve just shipped me off to some orphanage. You didn’t have to take me in.”

“You would have run away.”

“That wasn’t your _problem_.” Jason’s voice rose in pitch. He could feel desperation clawing at his chest, his lungs. _Whywhywhy_. If he didn’t know, didn’t get an answer, he thought he might _lose it_. He was _Jason fucking Todd_ , he didn’t _need_ help, didn’t _want_ help, and here was some age-old vampire who’d plucked him off the streets and told him he was helping him _anyway_.

_Why?_

“Jason,” Bruce said. He held him a little closer, pressing a kiss into his hair like Jason’s mom used to, and his voice was so very soft.

“You are worth so much more than what’s happened to you.”

Jason gritted his teeth, trying to force down the strangled grief that was tearing itself loose. His nails dug into Bruce’s back, hard enough that it _had_ to hurt, but Bruce didn’t flinch.

“The other night, what you did for Dick. That was kind, Jason. Despite what the world has handed you, despite it trying to beat it out of you. . . you’re still kind. That’s why, Jason. That’s why, if you’ll have me, I would be honored to be your partner.”

It took a while for him to be able to anwer. Jason had these breakdowns every once in a while, usually set off by something minor. A straw to break the camel’s back, a pinprick that sent every ounce of bottled-up emotion pouring out of him. He’d always hidden them away, before. Squatting in abandoned buildings, biting down on his arm to keep his screams silent, breaking whatever what close to him and putting his fists through walls. He _had_ to be hurting Bruce. It was starting to hurt _him_ , how tightly he clung. But as Jason shuddered and whimpered and choked down his pain, all the vampire did was wait patiently for him to be ready.

He came back to himself, piece by piece. He stilled, rode out the last violent shivers of his sobs, and slowly went quiet. When he finally pulled away, he was quick to wipe his eyes on the back of his arm, as if somehow that would wipe away Bruce’s memory too.

But there was no judgement in Bruce’s eyes when Jason managed to meet them. Just understanding, and that caring, _soft_ smile.

 _Bruce is a big ol’ softie, especially when it comes to kids_.

Fuck him ass-backwards, Dick had been telling the truth.

There was only one thing he possibly could say. Only one answer he could possibly give.

“. . .do I need to know how to do a flip?”


End file.
